


mistakes

by youwantthat1D



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Apologies, Betrayal, Challenge Response, Cheating, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Partner Betrayal, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 09:51:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youwantthat1D/pseuds/youwantthat1D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry didn’t make mistakes very often in his life. All Harry wanted was a quick and dirty romp before the biggest performance of his life. He thinks this may be his biggest one yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a 1D kink meme prompt in which Harry and Louis are in an established relationship, but Harry finds sex with Louis boring. He just wants to be truly fucked to take away the anxiety before a big performance, so he finds an older man to help him with his problem. 
> 
> So I basically took a really awesome, kinky prompt and turned it into a not-so-awesome, totally not kinky, angst fueled one-shot. Sorry not sorry. 
> 
> Be warned: melodrama and gag inducing sappiness ahead. Also no Eleanor hate. Ain’t nobody got time for that. 
> 
> Also, for Sam, because she's probably screaming her lungs off at this very moment.

* * *

Mistakes

Mature audiences only? Non-explicit sex depicted.

Harry/Louis. Established relationship.

 

* * *

 Harry didn’t make mistakes very often in his life.

He never hesitated when pursuing the things he wanted most. For as long as he could remember, he wanted to be a musician. He wanted to be a famous musician. Most importantly, he wanted to somehow touch millions of lives with the sound of his soul alone.

He got all that he wished for, and then some.

He got fame, fortune, and friends beyond his wildest dreams. Fans to worship him. Cash for lifetimes over. Friends of the most brilliant kind.

He even got love in the form of his cheeky, mocha haired best friend.

Harry didn’t make many mistakes in his life.

He thinks this may be his biggest one yet.

 

* * *

  _It was such a mistake._

Harry can’t hide the bruising of his swollen, red lips, or the flushed rosiness of his cheeks. His blown pupils are easily masked under the dim lights backstage, but he can hardly conceal the slick sheen of sweat glossing from his forehead where his curly brown locks seem limp and tossed.

Where his sweat pools in the dip of his collarbone, flecks of gold glimmer in the darkness.

Harry is beautiful in this moment: loved and worshiped and devastated.

Louis can barely stand to look at him this way, high off a truly breathtaking orgasm that left every space of him filled with a blinding brilliance, beautifully possessed by that darling devotion Louis bathed him with.

Harry felt sick with the heavy dread of guilt filling his lungs. He knew Louis could see it so clearly in that exact moment he stumbled backstage seconds before their biggest performance of their careers, drunk from a physical high and drowning from an emotional low.

He knew Louis knew the exact moment their eyes locked underneath the blanket of lights.

All it took was one meaningful stare and a cursory scan of Louis’ ashen skin and the devastating drain of life from his eyes, and Harry knew he was ruined.

Absolutely and completely ruined.

“For their first performance here in Madison Square Garden, please give it up for One Direction!”  
  
Louis could hear it so clearly underneath the roaring frenzy of the crowd.

Or maybe he could feel it more than hear it.

The pleading _I’m sorry_ on his lips.

 

* * *

 The performance went off without a hitch.

The boys were professionals if not anything else.

Harry sang brilliantly; the husky texture of his voice more intoxicating than usual.

They goofed off all the same onstage, jumping around each other in their manic dance, ignoring the lurking menace ghosting through their heads.

And at the end, Harry hugged Louis as though he hadn’t just, moments before the start of all this craziness, betrayed the trust of his best friend, his lover.

It was only after the rush was over and the boys were swept backstage into their dressing rooms for a post-show cool down that Harry had an instant to himself and his own screaming thoughts.

 

* * *

 Harry felt the splattering of cum on the inside of his thighs hardening like little beads of iron burning into his tender, bloodied flesh.

_“What do you want?”_

_“Looks like you could use a moment.”_

_“Yeah…thanks. Shut the door please.” The man moved to shut the door to the dingy backstage bathroom with its grimy floors and pale, empty lights. Disgusting in every way possible, and perfectly in tune with what Harry was about to do next._

_“Wait,” Harry whispered just loudly enough to call the man’s attention once more. “Hold on.” Harry turned around, hands braced behind him on the edge of the white, ceramic sink. He took a deep breath, the same he took before any performance, and looked up, staring the man directly in the eyes._

_“Why did you follow me?”_

_The man gave a mean smile, cruel and sinister._

Harry thinks he should have known then how evil this man was – maybe how evil even he himself could be.

_“Sorry,” the man said with a shrug of his broad shoulders, “must have read your message wrong when you eye fucked me on your way here.”_

_“I’m sorry?” Harry whispered innocently, playing along with the submissive charade he knew the man wanted, the charade he wanted. He could twist this man to do his bidding, all the while playing the fool._

_The man stepped forward, encroaching upon Harry’s space._

_Predator and prey._

_Harry could only pray he was as rough as he seemed with his scruffy blonde hair and dirty, beady eyes._

All Harry wanted was to be _fucked_. Truly and absolutely fucked. Taken and dominated and forced to bleed and beg and hurt and suffer and survive on the crisp line between pleasure and pain.

That was what he _needed_ in the moments before a big show when his worth was on the line once more: the stress of being displayed before the world, a big balancing act between being worshiped and hated.

Every show a test in which he had to perform and perform well; the high came only after nailing every note.

Harry needed someone to take the anxiety away. He needed someone to force him down and take away his control, make him for once powerless over his own self.

Louis was just too God damned careful, too God damned _considerate_.

Harry was sorry. He was so terribly sorry.

 

* * *

 In the weeks following their performance in Madison Square Garden, Louis avoided Harry at all cost. Physically there was only so much Louis could do. There were appearance to be made, interviews to be done, and shows to perform.

Louis could act the part.

He never faltered in front of the fans or watchful cameras.

But, away from it all, Louis withdrew so quickly he never even asked Harry _‘why?’_ And Harry begged for forgiveness; ran to Louis’ room as soon as he had time to even process what he had just done. He knocked and begged and even sobbed, just asking Louis to listen.

_“I’m sorry Lou! I’m sorry! Just, please, talk to me. Lou!” Harry knocked desperately on Louis’ door. His forehead rested on his other forearm as he let out a choked sob. “It was a mistake. Louis, please,” he whispered, his voice barely audible by the end. A wrecked and ruined voice._

Louis never answered Harry’s pleas, never even cracked the door open to leave until management forced them back to their hotel.

Louis crashed in Liam’s room that night, leaving Harry on his own that night.

And for the nights to come.

 

* * *

 The other boys just stared at Harry with a mixture of confusion and shame. They never spoke about it with either Harry or Louis; they just kept on appearances, hoping the two of them would find their way back to each other.

Liam always warned Louis that this…thing he had with Harry would blow up n his face, would cause him all the hurt and pain he tried so desperately to save Harry from. Liam knew Harry loved Louis more than anyone, but Harry was young and given to temptations. Harry never knew what hurt meant, what hurt felt like, what hurt did.

 

Harry didn’t know what it was like to struggle, to give to get, to lose.

He just wished Harry could have learned without ruining Louis along the way. 

* * *

 By the third week, the silence was becoming unbearable.

They never even talked about it and all the while Louis kept ignoring Harry’s stares and his cries for Louis to just _‘Listen to me, please.’_

Harry never felt so pathetic in his whole life, staring at the nights ahead alone and too beaten to even apologize anymore.

He was sorry for what he did, so, so sorry, but somehow even his apologies felt hollow to his own ears. Why was he sorry? He wanted it, at that moment, instigated it even. He willed it to happen; laid a deliberate plan before him. He wasn’t drunk, he wasn’t angry, he wasn’t even sexually frustrated.

Was he sorry because it happened? Or because it hurt Louis?

Harry was so confused he didn’t even know why he was sorry but just that he was.

 

* * *

 By the fourth week, Harry never felt so scared in his life. The fear of losing Louis grew every hour Louis looked at him with those hurt and torn stares.

_Louis’ chest was warm and solid pressed against his, and, in that moment, Harry felt protected and safe._

_Their bodies folded together like two pieces of cloths, the seam freshly sewn. The night had been long: interviews and appearances and impromptu performances back to back until they fell in bed together just the same._

_Harry can feel sleep pressing phantom kisses on his skin, lulling him to a fine slumber beneath the starlit sky._

_They’re finally out of the city center, on the outskirts of a small village on route to their next location._

_Sleep seems so silent._

_Harry wants nothing more than to press kisses along Louis face, tracing the delicate fanning of eyelashes against his beautiful cheeks and finely sculpted nose._

_Harry wonders ever second how he was ever lucky enough to deserve someone like Louis._

Harry wonders how he ever thought for a second that those moments alone were not enough. He wonders every night he’s alone how he possibly gave that up for one kinky romp in a dingy bathroom, and hates himself even more.

_Harry runs his hands up Louis’ thigh, pressing languid kisses along his neck, and stirs Louis from the soft, silken sands of slumber._

_“Mmmhm, morning already?” Louis grins though his eyes remain idly closed._

_“No,” Harry drawls, pushing his other hand down Louis’ sweats. He palms Louis’ growing length firmly, working Louis up until his eyes opened slowly, bringing him back to Harry._

_Louis says nothing, only letting out breathy pants and quiet, reckless moans and he thrust desperately into Harry’s hand._

_Harry himself is hard, and painfully so, and he only whispers a light “please,” and Louis is working ferocious kisses onto Harry’s neck and chest, trailing down until he’s got Harry in his mouth and his fingers probe carefully into Harry’s hole._

_They carry on like this, gentle and loving, even through Harry lowering himself onto Louis, riding their pleasure out until they both cry out with passion and sensation. Harry lays motionless next to Louis, overwhelmed from that euphoric high, and Louis presses sloppy kisses onto Harry’s hand._

That was what Louis was like to Harry: always protecting him, always loving him so tenderly it burns Harry to even remember how he somehow wanted more.

Louis was everything he wanted, but, although Harry could never admit it, sex with Louis was lacking sometimes. Sometimes Harry just felt unfilled.

Louis was too soft, too gentle, too God damn selfless.

It wasn’t that sex with Louis wasn’t good or even great. It wasn’t even that Louis was plain in bed. There were plenty of times they would sneak around, giving fast and quick blowjobs or hand jobs  or even full on sex, while Paul, or Lou, or their whole entourage were just around the corner, or even minutes before they had to walk onstage for a conference or appearance or performance. There were plenty of times they wanked each other off underneath the table in front of a room full of media personnel, or whispered dirty things into each other’s ear onstage in front of millions. There were plenty of times Louis or Harry were rough with each other or broke out a handcuff or collar for fun.

It was just that Harry wanted to feel a real danger sometimes, and Harry knew Louis would never hurt Harry in any way.

Harry wanted to feel fear.

And, in a way, he got what he wanted.

 

* * *

 By the fifth week, the dawning realization of what Harry had done finally began to creep into his heart. Beneath all the shame and sorry Harry felt was a gnawing anger festering in his flesh.

When the sweat on his brows and the bruising of his lips wore off, Harry finally understood the inevitable and slow descent into madness that love brought. That madness of love which twisted his heart into something grotesque and misshapen; that madness which made him hate all the wonderful things given to him.

The man (whose name he never asked) with hands rough and calloused were not at all like Louis’, soft and firm and so finely tuned to the most intimate parts of Harry’s body, and the man’s voice was too gruff, too like his own, and made him feel hollow and dirty inside (like some whore he yearned to be). He liked the force and pressure and fine mix of pleasure and pain.

His smile was cruel and just a tad too happy to ruthlessly fuck some 18 year old over a dirty sink in a dingy backstage bathroom like some rag meant to be used and discarded after soaking up all the mess.

Most of all, the color of his eyes were all wrong; they drank the sight of Harry only by the curve of his ass pushed up in the air over kinked knees and folded arms. Not at all like Louis’ eyes with drops of sunlight nestled in blue waters.

What Harry hated the most, mostly about himself, was how much he liked it, folded over like that, being pounded into like some sex object. He was removed from reality; his purpose was solely for the benefit of others. Harry could finally be out of his own head, out of his own self. He could finally be someone other than himself for once, a nobody once more.

Louis was too careful with Harry, always afraid of crushing him beneath the weight of his own desire. Louis was too aware of who Harry was, of just who _‘Harry Styles’_ was.

Harry suspects, finally touching the surface of that festering anger he kept buried deep in his chest, that it was more Louis than Harry. Just as Louis was all too aware of who _‘Harry Styles’_ was, he was just as aware of who _‘Louis Tomlinson’_ was.

Harry suspects it was because he hasn’t adjusted to men yet; in bed he treated Harry like all those women he used to date who were so delicate and fragile as Louis liked them.

Harry suspects he did what he did that awful night because he was jealous and mean and wanted to get back at Louis for making him feel like some replacement for Eleanor.

Harry suspects – no knows – that in that moment in that dingy backstage room, he only thought of one thing.

_See? I can replace you too._

 

* * *

During those nights when his exile felt particularly painful, when he felt his punishment particularly agonizing, Harry would cry thinking about it all. How happy he was with Louis and all the anger it bottled up inside of him too.

He thinks he finally understands what it means to be ‘in love.’

A life full of strange paradoxes.

He didn’t want to be Louis’ boyfriend in life and replacement in bed.

He just wanted to be Louis’.

Simple as that.

 

* * *

 It was Louis who came to Harry first, much to his surprise.

It came six weeks after that night in Madison Square Garden; six agonizing weeks of watching Louis lose a little more of that light in his eyes as his heart crumbled into dust.

“What have we even been doing? What was all of it to you anyway?” came Louis’ explosive question. “I just don’t understand why, Harry! What did I _do_?”

Harry could only look at him, that dreadfully slow and painful realization rearing its brutal truth once more.

“Did you do it to _hurt_ me, Harry? Was I not good enough? Do I mean anything to you? Or did you think I wouldn’t know? Did you think you would get away with it?”

Harry remained silent.

“For God’s sake Harry! You owe me _something_!”

Harry’s answer came as a whisper like wind.

“Do you even know I’m real?”

Louis’ silence was Harry’s undoing.

“Louis, look at me. Do you even know who I am? Can you honestly tell me that when you look at me, no not onstage or as a friend, but as a lover, in bed, that you see me?”

“Or do you see _her_? Who broke your heart because she couldn’t stand being lied to? Did you play both of us? She didn’t deserve that. I don’t deserve that!”

“What are you talking about?” Harry could see the anger coloring Louis’ cheeks, rising and filing up his chest with a boiling rage. “How could you say that? This is _your_ doing!”

“Yes! And I’m sorry. I said I was sorry and I truly am! But you don’t _see_ me! All you see is someone else! You can’t decide if you want me or her and its killing me, Lou! Every time you want to love me, and I know you do, all you can see is ‘Harry Styles.’ Why can’t you see me, Lou, as _Harry_? As plain old Harry from Cheshire? All I wanted was to be yours. I don’t want you to be with me like you were with her either!”

“I realize now why! Why I made that stupid mistake! Because when you rolled into bed with me you were still there with her! When we weren’t having sex, I felt like _me_. I felt like you loved me for _me._ But then, the moment you touched me, the moment your guard was down, I could _feel_ it Lou. I wasn’t _there_. You love me, I can feel it, but you won’t let yourself love me like you want to. You have some ridiculous notion that it’s wrong to treat me the same in and out of bed.”

“I’m just so tired of being all these things Louis. Yes, I fucked around with some guy. I didn’t know him Lou; he didn’t mean a thing to me. I thought it was because I was nervous; I thought it was because it was what I needed to feel alright again. I even thought it was just because I felt _bored_ in bed. But Lou, it wasn’t _any_ of those things. It was all because I wanted to make you understand what it felt like to be _replaced_. If you could replace her with me I could replace you.”

“But I don’t want that. I don’t want to replace you Lou. I’m sorry, I’m just so sorry.”

Harry has fallen to the floor now, back against the wall, sobbing into his hands frustrated and hurt. “It was a mistake, Lou. It was a mistake.”

Time seemed stuck.

Neither two seemed to move; a clock stuck on the same moment like two bodies stuck in their constant orbit around the same center. All the time waiting for one body to break the circle.

Louis was the first to move again, moving forward to cradle Harry in his arms, covering his body with his own.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered over and over again like a spell of rain, bathing Harry in light, airy kisses. “We’ll fix this; I’ll fix this.”

Harry, feeling the familiar warmth of Louis’ heart, wrapped his arms around Louis’ back, pulling him even closer.

They stayed like that; reconciling all their hurt and love into one body once more, taking time to heal.

Two bodies colliding in the center.

**Author's Note:**

> xx Aha :)
> 
> Cheers!  
> youwantthat1D


End file.
